De Custodia Sanguinis
by Dagorhir
Summary: Hadrian Potter learned to expect the unexpected. However, no lessons or training could prepare him the approaching storm. When Lord Voldemort shows up in the most unlikely of places, Hadrian's convinced that whatever sanity Fate claimed to have fled for the hills because nothing in its right mind would place a Dark Lord, and his muggle hating followers, in a muggle neighborhood.
1. Chapter 1

**Author Note**

For those who have read this story previously (as in you're rereading it), then you should easily be able to tell this is an updated, revised version of the first one. I've been away for too long, so, in order to get back in the flow, I have gone back, checked for mistakes, fixed those, and carefully ensured everything flows the way I want it due to the direction I want this story to go. For those who might be concerned, yes, I still intend to keep the humorous undertone I began with. Hadrian is just _that _kind of guy. In this one, anyway.

Other information: De Custodia Sanguins translates into 'Wards of Blood.' It's Latin. The concept of Hadrian coming across a rather unexpected outcome in 4 Privet Drive, a new neighbor, who just _happens _to be the very man who has been _trying _to kill him since he was a year old. The idea itself just makes me laugh.

Also, since I forgot earlier. I do not own Harry Potter. I do, however, own the _ideas _in this FanFic.

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**Rating**: T

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Hadrian Potter was many things, but _obtuse _he was not.

There was something about getting up at the crack of dawn since he was a child, and working from sunrise to sunset, that installed a healthy dose of _not _being stupid in his brain. Regardless of what Snape said. Hadrian scowled. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, inky-black bangs matted to his forehead with sweat. The stove was lit, platters of food resting on the low-heat burners, and he idly wandered why they needed to keep the food warm when they were only doing a small social call. Rolling his shoulder, Hadrian frowned.

It was difficult to think clearly. As he tugged the thick coil of hair, raven-black strands twisted into a tight braid, over his shoulder, Hadrian worked to push past the thrumming pain radiating across his body. It was easy enough to do. Petunia, Merlin-bless the woman, was fluttering across the kitchen, hair loose, as she darted from one item of food to the next. Likely checking for anything Vernon - the floor above their head creaked, the wood groaning as someone began making their way through the hallway - would disapprove of. His aunt paused, lips pursed, as Hadrian froze.

Emerald-green eyes darted to the clock. Thirty till nine. Vernon shouldn't be making his way downstairs yet. He whirled around, apron snapping angrily around his waist, as he made sure everything was done. Cookies. On the shelf. Pie. In the refrigerator. Cake? Where was the cake? The soft whisper of coffee being poured into a cup echoed across the kitchen as Vernon reached the landing, and Hadrian knew it was a matter of seconds before the overly fat man entered his, and his aunt's, domain.

"It's in the oven," Petunia murmured into his ear as she past, and Hadrian would have kissed the woman if his uncle hadn't chosen that time, out of all of them, to enter the kitchen. He observed the two of them, pale blonde hair thin and flat on a flushed scalp. Hadrian kept his gaze downcast, hands folded behind his back, as Mr. Dursley observed him. A minute passed before the whale stated, "Cookies, pie, and cake."

Hadrian related the location of each, and peeked through his bangs. After a moment, he added, "They will be ready by nine."

"Good."

Vernon straightened his tie, already dressed, and Hadrian idly wondered _what _possessed the man. He expected him to be up, yes, but not completely ready by the time the clock hit nine. He had been rather certain it wouldn't be until ten, or eleven at the latest, that they would leave the house to go across the street. It wasn't long before Dudley came waddling into the kitchen, blue eyes tired and sluggish, with a complaint in his mouth. "Why do we _all _have to go over and say hello?"

Hadrian furrowed his brow as he filled his cousin's cup, his aunt already speaking, "Because that's what neighbors do, Dudley. He just moved in, and Privet Drive can be a rather..._daunting_ place compared to the city. A friendly hand to help guide him is a gesture to be made. Even by you."

Hadrian wasn't sure if he should be surprised or not. He exchanged looks with his aunt, and she made a gesture towards the oven. He bypassed her, donning mittens, as she continued, "All things considered, we want our little quarter of the world to appear as normal as possible. Wouldn't you agree, Vernon?"

"Indeed." The fat man nodded, newspaper opened in front of him. "No freaky things in sight. No robed people _swooping _in to cast warnings. Not here. Not in _our _little world. Not a freaky happens here."

_Idiot._

Hadrian filled the plates, and quietly escaped into the front room to continue picking up the house. Neighbors. Poor saps didn't even realize what they were getting themselves into by moving here. Hadrian plucked the books off the table, and placed them in the shelf with a light frown as he thought back to the initial surprise of finding out about the elusive people moving in. Not once had they been seen. Not even when an army of moving trucks showed up on their street. He only hoped the trip over there was actually worth it.

_Merlin, why do I have to go? _It wasn't long before Hadrian was following his relatives out of the house, baked goods in hand, warm and mouthwatering in scent. They crossed the street to the house across from theirs. 7 Privet Drive. Like DADA, the house, the largest on Privet Drive, never seemed to hold a family for longer than a year. It was a rather odd occurrence, and Hadrian was half convinced it might be haunted. _Though at least whoever lives here has enough decency to actually try to make the house look a little different._

And they did. The yard's sidewalk was converted to stepping stones, white with veins of emerald laced throughout, that led up to the dark, wooden porch. One of the newer additions, that. Polished wood, potted plants hanging from little notches and metal loops. There was even a swing nestled in the corner, and a table next to it. Homey feeling, this house.

There was also a privacy fence wrapping around the house, which was a nice addition and a smart one. Some of the people around the block were a bit odd, and had the most peculiar need to _spy _on everyone. More than once had he caught the old dude down the street peeking over the fence when he was in the backyard gardening. The reminder made his nose scrunch in distaste. A nice stinging hex would take care of that...

Even the siding had moved away from the pristine white to an off-white, the stone foundation nearly blending into the porch.

He kept behind his relatives as they stepped onto the porch, and tuned out his surroundings as Vernon knocked on the door. There was the soft lull of conversation, murmured words and pleasantries exchanged, a feeling of someone staring at him, and then they were stepping through the doorway. As Hadrian passed through, he felt like he crossed through a veil of cold water. It swept over his body, and he shuddered. It was almost like stepping through the door to Snape's office. Which was impossible. Because no sane person with _magic _would move to mundane Privet Drive.

The inside of the house, however, was decorated in a way that was warm. It was alluring. A thick, deep green rug was under his feet, the edges a silvery-white. It was like the cobblestone walkway. White and green. Kind of like Slytherin, though those _were _two colors people liked. And they looked nice coupled together. As he cast his gaze about, he caught hints of red splashed throughout. Subtle touches. The weaponry on display discouraged looking _too _closely.

_Who the hell moved into this place? _From his aunt's look, her thoughts were along the same lines of his.

"Ah, if it isn't Mr. Dursley. How nice of you to come." Hadrian frowned. Was that sarcasm? His gaze slowly lifted, a sense of unease beginning to churn in his stomach as his uncle said, "We meant to come earlier, but my wife thought you'd want to have the first few days to yourself. Though we brought gifts. Boy!"

Hadrian stepped around his cousin, absently admiring a painting on the wall as he stepped up to his aunt. An ocean-side picture, the water practically glowing. He swore the water in it was moving when he felt a hand brushed the back of his. He turned to the person intending to take the dish from him, a word of warning about the too warm plate on the tip of his tongue, when he came face-to-face with a face harboring red eyes.

The plate would have dropped if those hands weren't holding his. For, standing in front of him, to his dismay, was an older Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Behind him was Lucius Malfoy, the pale-haired man's hair pulled into a high ponytail, and a sharp, predatory gleam shining through those pale eyes. At his side was Professor Snape, familiar scowl in place. And he was rather certain the two coming into the hallway were Lestrange brothers. It didn't take a genius to put the pieces together, though he had never deluded the thought of his relatives being intelligent. How they missed the wands, which Hadrian could see tucked in the palm of their hands but out of sight, was something he could not quite grasp. But one thing was certain.

He was so screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

One Dark Lord by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle? Check.

The nine of them were in the living room, and Hadrian was certain he had never been so uncomfortable in his entire life. His uncle was exchanging small talk with the wizards scattered about the room, oblivious to the danger, as Petunia kept her words at a minimum. With the way her arm was brushing his, he was rather certain she had caught onto his discomfort. Dudley had yet to speak, though his mouth was currently stuffed with the deserts Hadrian had spent all morning cooking. For Riddle. Merlin, he hated his life.

Vernon, though? He was rather certain his uncle was dropped on his head as a baby. Repeatedly. Perhaps his parents had hoped to beat some common sense in their son's head, or to shut him up, but their efforts only made it worse in the long-run. It seemed plausible. It was either that, or Vernon was inane to the point no spell in existence could cure his stupidity. A sugar cookie danced between Hadrian's finger as his gaze slid to the red-eyed manic sitting on the couch across from them, legs crossed with a cup of _something _in hand, with a mildly curious look in those red eyes.

His, and Vernon's, conversation was focused on Smeltings. And he _looked _mildly intrigued, but Hadrian would bet his own magic that the interest was an act. A really good act, but an act nonetheless. Damn Slytherins and their masks. Everything about _this _was uncomfortable. Parents' murderer having teatime with his aunt, cousin, Vernon and him was just something that shouldn't exist. Ever.

As he sat, resting at the end of the couch with a plate of snacks in his lap, he could _feel _the gazes of the Death Eaters focused on him. And it was unnerving.

One Severus Snape? Check.

The surely Potions Master was dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a black turtleneck. It was one of the last things he expected to see his _professor _in, but he supposed it was to be expected given where they were. He knew the man was watching him. He knew it as well as he knew Snape was sitting on _that_ recliner, _next _to Riddle, staring at him in a _muggle_ home in a _muggle_ town on the _muggle _side of the _world_. This was not Hogwarts. Though he wished it was. Perhaps shooting a spell and running would be possible. Or not. He frowned as deliberately kept his gaze away from his professor's, knowing without doubt nothing would slip underneath the Potions Master's gaze.

Wasn't it bad enough that he had to deal with the man during school, but now in the summer too?

Hadrian wondered at his lack of luck, but nibbled on a cookie when his aunt, playing the dutiful caretaker, inquired if he was feeling alright. Or maybe she really just wanted to get out of this house, and was hoping he would have given them an excuse to flee? Possible. Very possible.

_As much as I would love to run..._Hadrian pushed the thought from his head, and offered a reassurance to his aunt.

"And your nephew?" Malfoy question, those steely eyes cutting into Vernon. Hadrian knew that look. Draco often got that look when he was picking something apart, especially when the answer he received wasn't the one he was looking for. He'd seen the younger Malfoy drag truths out of his classmates like a dentist pulled teeth. The teen was alarmingly good at it. He blinked, zoning back into the conversation as Malfoy continued, "Does he and Dudley not go to the same school?"

An inquisitive, eerily keen Lucius Malfoy? Check.

"The bo- Hadrian here goes to a different school." Vernon swallowed a mouthful of the tea he was drinking, and sat the cup on the table. "St. Brutus, that one. Bad apples don't fall far from the tree, if you understand me."

Again there were eyes on him, and Hadrian raised an eyebrow. "I like blowing things up. People especially."

Riddle's eyes narrowed as Vernon chocked on the brownie he bit into. Petunia hissed under her breath, a sharp intake of breath, and Dudley scooted away from him. Hadrian hid his smile by biting into his snack. It was always nice to get one over Vernon. And seeing the whale splutter, face red, was worth the payback sure to come. Schooling his expression into serious worry, Hadrian turned his gaze on Vernon as he inquired, "Is Aunt Marge doing any better, Uncle Vernon? I haven't heard from her in some time."

"S-S-She's fine, boy." His uncle was staring him down, punishment shining in his eyes, and Hadrian smiled. He sat the empty plate on the table as a hand fell on his shoulder. He eyed the long fingers, and then followed it up to the person it belonged to. Rabastan, if he recalled his name right. Or was it his brother? His twin was next to him, and the Death Eater asked, tone polite, "Why do you blow people up? It isn't a healthy thing for a boy, such as yourself, to do."

Rabastan and Rodulphus Lestrange? Check.

"Like I said, the apple didn't fall far from the tree." Vernon cut in, and turned his gaze on him. Hadrian smiled sweetly, and sat his hand on the one on his shoulder as his gaze clashed with Vernon's. He saw the faint tightening of Vernon's jaw as the fat man asked, "St. Brutus is good for you, _isn't _it?"

"Of course." So many people staring. As uncomfortable as it was, he couldn't contain his glee when his uncle was squirming. So he cocked his head to the side, eyes wide, as he asked, "Did the doctor every say what caused Ripper to have that fit of his?"

It wasn't long after that comment that they left the house.


	3. Chapter 3

Marvolo Slytherin blinked owlishly as the Dursleys scurried from his makeshift home. His gaze shifted to Lucius and Severus, both whom were regarding the door with rather comical expressions. Lucius wore a look of utter disbelief. The man, usually schooled in both expression and posture, was open as a book and his eyes, often narrowed, were wide. Severus looked like he inhaled a handful too many sour lemon drops. The brothers were more on the expressionless side, their brows furrowed and their minds busy. He didn't even bother attempting to delve into their thoughts. It often gave him a headache.

"Did he..." Lucius paused, as if uncertain of voicing his thoughts, before letting out a long exhale. "...did he just indirectly confess to blowing up his _aunt?"_

Marvolo, once known as Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort, asked himself the same question. The boy's discomfort had been obvious, but, not once, had he even made an effort to inform his relatives they were sitting with a wizard who happened to be one of the world's most wanted. Or had been, considering how everyone still thought he was dead. Potter, though? The boy antagonized them. The whale had chocked on the 'blowing things up' comment, and, as much as the reminder of his own defeat so many years ago, he felt a trickle of amusement. The boy had some bite, after all.

The thought was one that refused to slip from his thoughts. Such reckless behavior was something he would expect from a Lion, but the way Potter had met his eyes, those killer green irises dark and unyielding... Marvolo frowned. S_omething _was off. A challenge of some form. It was one of the few ways to explain the way the boy had outright...

"They're afraid of him." All eyes swiveled directly to Rabastan, the tall wizard still frowning. He was flexing his hand with the most peculiar look he had ever seen on the typically indifferent man's face. The hand Potter had sat his own atop of. Rabastan was all wary suspicion with a side of boiling fury. When he noted everyone was staring at him, he frowned. Marvolo leveled the unmarried Lestrange with a look, and the man explained, "Blase comment aside, they went out of their way to exclude him from the conversation."

True. Potter was only brought into the conversation when Lucius had question Vernon Dursley about the differences in their schools.

The Dark Lord sipped his tea, wheels turning as he regarded the men around him.

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Idly, Hadrian Potter wondered why 7 was across from 4 when it should have been 5.

Even after a day, his back and sides blazing as a reminder of his jabs, the fact _7 _was across from his aunt's home instead of _5 _was a small bite of information that refused to leave him be. Kneeling in the garden, the scorching heat beating down on him as he worked, Hadrian tried to get the stupid number out of his head. He couldn't really comprehend why it mattered so much. Still...

Why 7 instead of 5? He was sure the house was '5' before Riddle moved in. He'd have to check the photo albums to be sure, though that would have to wait until the household was asleep, they were gone and he _wasn't _gardening. If he tried now, he'd track mud across the house. And how happy Vernon would be to come home to _that_. He mentally entertained the thought for the sole purpose of hearing the man's outraged shriek. Hadrian snorted, and rocked back on his heels. The last of the weeds were gone, and, as he stretched, his gaze shifted to the slumbering, small black snake curled up on a stone.

He smiled as he watched it, almost jealous of its lazy and carefree sunbath. He leaned in, green eyes alight with mirth, as he hissed, _'While I am sure you are comfy, I would advise you find a different stone to bath upon.'_

If a snake could have whiplash, this one did. It jerked upright, and rolled right off the stone with a series of shocked hisses. It returned in a matter of moments, winding onto the stone, and stared at him. Small, keen black eyes focused on him as the snake hissed, _'Two-legs speaks serpent, this one sees. Why leave for different rock when this one is warm?'_

A skeptical snake. Perfect. Hadrian smiled at the innocent question, and idly ran a finger along the scales as he murmured, _'Because there are others inside the house who do not like you or your kind. The rock will become cold if they see you.'_

After some probing, Hadrian scooped the small serpent into his pocket, and went about his work with it nestled in the warmth of his clothing. It hissed out small compliments every so often, and the small creature brought a shadow of a smile to his face. He was rounding the house, heading for the front yard, when he noticed Riddle leaning against the fence separating his yard from the one next door. Red eyes found his in moments.

A quick look at the still empty driveway told him was still alone. Again.

"Riddle."

"You blew up your aunt?"

Hadrian blinked at the comment. His gaze slowly shifted to the right, and he noted Lucius, dressed in slacks and a white shirt, staring at 4 Privet Drive while Snape glared. Hadrian met his professor's gaze for a moment before diverting it to the rest of his surroundings. He didn't see the Lestrange brothers, but he didn't doubt that they were near. The small snake in his pocket came out, wrapped around his hand, as it asked, _'Who are these people? Are they nice? Do they have food? Warm rocks?'_

Hadrian stared at the small black snake wrapped around his hand, green eyes slowly blinking before turning back to the three wizards blocking his path. Lucius was now staring at him, undoubtedly hearing the small series of hisses, and Riddle, naturally, was holding him under his gaze. No doubt demanding an answer wordlessly. Hadrian sighed. First he invaded Riddle's house, and now Riddle, and his men, were loitering on the sidewalk outside of 4 Privet Drive.

Blood Wards, maybe.

"St. Brutus?" Hadrian's gaze shifted to the blonde noble, and then back to the Dark Lord who was still regarding him with narrowed eyes. There was something thoughtful in those eyes, dangerous but thoughtful. Resigned, Hadrian said, "St. Brutus is the school they use as a cover-up for me being a wizard. As for Marge..."

_No reason to bring up 'For the Clinically Insane' portion of the title into the discussion. _He pictured their reactions as the small serpent weaved between his fingers, red tongue grazing his skin every so often, and it was tempting to tell the men in front of him what type of school "St. Brutus" was. If only to learn how a wizarding family differs from a muggle one. A pureblood family, at that. Weasleys aside, he was idly curious as to how children were raised when they were born with the knowledge of magic and raised with it woven into every aspect of life.

When a long arm trapped him against the fence, Hadrian blinked. Had he really just spaced out? _Again?_

He shifted, and stilled. His gaze shifted downwards, towards the arm grazing his side, his own arm draped over it, and frowned. When had that gotten there without him noticing? Why hadn't he noticed _Riddle _closing in on him? He looked up, and found himself staring into wine-red eyes. Hadrian blinked, eyes slightly unfocused by the sudden closeness, and held those eyes without complaint. He figured Riddle wanted something, though _what _he could want, that involved invading his personal space, was beyond him. Did Riddle even know what personal space was? Or was he just a special case?

"For a wizard working for the Light, you seem rather at ease surrounded by those following the path opposing yours." Riddle's tone was soft, and Hadrian's brow furrowed. He cocked his head to the side, green eyes blinking. Politics? Was Riddle really trying to bring up _politics _when trapping him to a fence? Seriously? The man was already in his bubble. What _more _did he want? When those red eyes narrowed, Hadrian sighed. "Magic's magic, Riddle. Light. Dark. Doesn't really matter either way, does it? And I honestly don't care if someone chooses to be a Death Eater. Their business. _Not _mine. I do, however, care about my chores. And you invading my personal space. The second especially. Have I ever told you that you have really pretty eyes?"


	4. Chapter 4

He didn't understand _why _the boy always had to be so _problematic_.

Severus scowled as he watched the interaction between the boy and the Dark Lord, obsidian eyes narrowed in thought. Hadrian Potter, by all accounts, should not be leaning against that fence, _relaxed, _in the manner he was. It was suicidal. Nor should he be telling a man three times his age he has _pretty __eyes_. Yet the teenager, not yet fifteen, was leaning into the fence, arm draped casually over the one trapping him there, with a curious gleam to his eyes as he complimented said man's eyes. It was almost like the boy knew they couldn't do anything, not in public with the neighborhood watching them with curious eyes. But, surely, the boy had _some _common sense.

"And why are you _here, _doing chores, while your relatives are gone?" Marvolo's tone was casual, his stance at ease, but Severus took note of the fact the man's eyes had narrowed every so slightly and the smallest movement would drop the Dark Lord's wand directly into his ever-waiting hand. The question was a valid one, and Lucius, attention turning to them, seemed to take an interest in the answer as well. The blond added to the unanswered question as he said, "I would think that they'd take you with them considering your...status."

"And what status might that be, Malfoy?" Potter inquired, raven hair slipping from its restraints. The boy jumped slightly when Marvolo took one inky black strand between his fingers, curling it around his finger as their Lord answered in Lucius's stead. "You _are _famous, Potter. Given the money they are undoubtedly getting for taking care of you...I image they dote upon you."

Severus noted the way the boy blinked his eyes, expression closing off. Shutter reflex. An untold story, perhaps?

Potter shrugged one shoulder, pale skin peeking out as the sleeve slipped down his arm, something much to big for a teen his size to be wearing, the Gryffindor's voice soft as the teen replied, "I'm not one for the spotlight. And I like gardening, anyway. The quiet is preferable to the noise they unintentionally call upon themselves."

A defensive answer, if he had ever heard one. One well disguised. For a Lion.

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There was something uncannily calm about the Death Eaters.

Hadrian noticed it the moment Voldemort trapped him against the fence, the lattice biting into the small of his back, and those narrowed eyes told him the Dark Lord wasn't fooled. At all. Nor were his servants. Lucius Malfoy stared him down from his spot near the entrance to the house, and Snape, in the usual manner, glared as if he had found an unwanted ingredient about to drop into a complex, and highly dangerous, potion. He finally noted the Lestrange brothers, both whom were walking across the street, and sighed. And here he was, being nice, and hoping for a 'thank you' for the compliment. Which he had said before actually checking what was coming out of his mouth.

Seriously, who _did _that? He pulled at Riddle's sleeve, admiring the fabric, as he finally said, "I suppose you all would like some tea."

"You intend to _invite _us inside, Potter?" The clear disbelief in the Dark Lord's tone was easy to pick up. Hadrian shrugged. With his arm draped over Voldemort's, it was easy to feel the shift in muscle as the man tightened his grip on the fence behind him. It was about as easy as feeling the muscles on the man's leg tensing, and with the way it was pressed against side of him, leaving him trapped like an animal, he knew the man was taken aback by the offer. Giving the men around him an innocent smile, Hadrian said, "I highly doubt a _blood ward _could keep you out. Considering the incident in the graveyard, I would say it's null."

"How astute of you."

"He's not as daft as he makes himself out to be be."

Hadrian scowled, his gaze flickering between the various wizards, and felt a soft smile inch across his face as the Dursleys' vehicle eased into the driveway. As Vernon stepped out of the car, the raven-haired youth waved as he called out, "Uncle, look, we have guests! Shall I go and make tea?"

Vernon looked between the four men, and then at Hadrian himself and the closeness of the Dark Lord, before slowly nodding.

"Of course. There should be some fruit in the fridge as well..."

Hadrian smiled. He leveled an even look on Riddle as he murmured, "Though I think your plans for _killing _me will have to wait. Anything set to 'annihilate or destroy,' spell-wise, has been warded directly to the Ministry. Per Dumbledore's orders. Something about me having a knack for some rather _unsavory _destructive habits."

Dunking under Voldemort's arm, he saw the man arch a single, dark eyebrow, and Hadrian swore he could have seen a glint of amusement in those eyes.

But surely not. How could a wizard with a pole shoved up his arse find anything amusing? As he went inside, he called over his shoulder, "I hope you told the councilor that I'm sorry for scaring her clients!"


	5. Chapter 5

He invited them in. _Hadrian Potter _invited him inside his home, and then tossed a wicked grin at his pale guardians.

Marvolo followed the small boy inside, slipping out of his shoes once inside and leaving them by the door. Lucius, blinking owlishly, looked equally confused by the sudden turn of events neither of them had thought would happen. Perhaps he should have Narcissa and Draco join in on their fun? It might be easier to get a better understanding of the Dursleys if they had someone younger to interact with them. Though getting Draco to keep a civil front with a muggle, let alone one as fat as the Dursleys' boy, was a long shot in the dark. Narcissa, though? Marvolo felt a slow, dark smile crossing his face at the thought of the pureblooded woman walking circles around an oblivious Petunia Dursley. It would be pleasing to watch, and even more so once he was done _playing _with them.

Hadrian, though? The small Gryffindor was something else.

_Afraid of him, Rabastan had said. _As he stepped into the living area of the Dursleys' home, and as Hadrian vanished through a doorway, presumably into the kitchen, he noted his family was still pale. Petunia, despite being horse-like, seemed to have smoothed down any ruffled feathers, and was encouraging them to make themselves at home in her living room. With a swift word from the mother, Dudley was upstairs and out of sight. _Scared? They are uneasy, that is certain. Perhaps afraid that he will use magic in front of us? They are unaware of our own status..._

Though it seemed she, and her large son, were more cautious around Potter than _afraid _of him.

Rodolphus was off to the side, next to a shelf examining the pictures there, and when he spoke, it drew everyone's attention, "You have no pictures of your nephew, from what I can see."

Severus was also looking over them, a ghost of a scowl working its way onto the Potions Master's face. Petunia offered a tight smile as she answered, "No, we don't have any pictures of him on display. Hadrian doesn't like cameras in general, so we try our best to make him as comfortable as we possibly can before he returns to St. Brutus's every fall."

"What kind of school is St. Brutus, if you don't mind me asking?" Lucius was lounged in a thick chair, foot crossed over knee, but his gaze was sharp. Marvolo chuckled inwardly, taking a seat as Hadrian came back into the room with a large trey balanced on one hand. The boy was the one to answer, a smile in place. "St. Brutus? It's a privet school to the south. My uncle picked it out due to the fact it could meet my _special _needs, sir."

"Special needs?"

Petunia was noticeably paler, her gaze flickering over to her husband. Vernon, now that he took note of the large man sitting across from him, was frowning. His eyes were dark as he took the tea when his nephew offered the cup to him, as did Petunia, but, as the boy made to leave, Marvolo caught hold of the boy's thin wrist. Squeezing ever-so-slightly, noting the way the boy winced, a small movement near miniscule in size, he pulled Hadrian Potter back into their awkward circle and perched the boy directly where he wanted him.

If the muggles could get any _more _uncomfortable, he would have laughed. As it was, he merely offered a shark-like smile.

"Where were we?"

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_Now this is mildly unsettling..._Hadrian shifted, mentally debating launching a spell at the Dark Lord for this stunt. Not that his aunt, namely his uncle's, face wasn't priceless as it was, but that was _beside _the point. He had not expected Tom Riddle, Dark Lord extraordinaire, Dark Lord of Magical Britain, to have pulled such an unexpected move. It was rather un-Darklord-ish. And un-Riddle-ish, to boot, but he couldn't exactly complain. The man had a comfy lap.

Riddle was a good deal taller than him. He fit snuggling in his grasp, small and delicate looking, and the Dark Lord's fingers, ghosting across his side, were firm enough to keep him where he was sitting as said Dark Lord continued speaking as if nothing had happened. "If your nephew has a habit of blowing things up, I imagine it would take a special staff to tend to his needs. Lucius, here, has a son of his own."

Hadrian blinked at the mention of Draco, and felt a string of unease travel up his spine. The Dark Lord gestured to the tea, and Lucius poured him a cup, and then another for himself, as Riddle continued without missing a beat. "The boy has a few destructive habits of his own. From what my friend tells me, the lad makes perfect grades in school, and his studies keep his urges curbed."

Hadrian blinked in confusion, and then felt a bubble of amusement. Draco did have _'a few destructive habits.' _The worst of them was pissing off Hermione, which he did with a sort of determination, and sometimes Hadrian swore the serpent was crushing on his friend. His mirth died as Snape sat next to them, and Hadrian eyed his professor as the man draped his arm over his knees. His gaze shifted to the small plate of fruit the man was offering, and felt an inkling of amusement rise. Not sure _how _to respond, Hadrian offered a gentle thanks, and plucked the fresh strawberry off the plate and bit into it.

Snape did not remove his arm from his lap, and Malfoy, sitting on Tom's other side, caged him in entirely by mirroring Snape's movements.

_I never thought I would see the day I would be sprawled in the world's most dangerous killer's lap like some kind of treasure. _He hunted a grape from the tray, and popped it into his mouth. Fruit. He liked fruit. He mentally thanked his aunt for keeping such a large stock of it in the house despite the fact they were the only ones that ate it. He idly wondered how Vernon didn't catch on to _that _piece of information. He smiled, lips stained red and strawberry in mouth, as he mentally added, _nor did I think I would come across a situation that Snape, or Malfoy, would willingly touch me. Huh._

"How old is your boy, Lucius?" Vernon questioned as Dudley came downstairs. Malfoy answered, "He turned fifteen not long ago."

"A little older then Dudders." Petunia smiled, and Hadrian looked between the various people in the room. Despite the friendly exterior the wizards were offering, he knew each were cringing at Dudley's nickname. He wasn't surprised. Hadrian felt he had received the better end of the 'Nickname Stick' when compared to his cousin. 'Boy,' or even 'Freak,' were far more pleasant than _Dudders._

Voldemort, however, confirmed the sense of unease he felt earlier when he said, "As it is, Rodolphus's wife will be arriving in due time with her sister and nephew. Perhaps this weekend we can have a meal together? Saturday, perhaps? The news stated it would be hot enough, and I'm _dying _to test out my grill."

It was official_. _His life sucked.


	6. Chapter 6

There was something about being caged in by Vernon Dursley, where no one could see, that made Hadrian prepare for the worst.

The man was generally foul, his nature unpredictable, and, even being shy of fifteen years, the raven-haired youth realized a bad situation when he saw one. He had enough experience gained throughout the years to see it when it was coming. Plenty of professors had tried to kill him, and this was something that echoed in the back of his mind as the man continued to rant.

This would, without doubt, get _bad_. The dark promise in Vernon's eyes, it was as unmistakable as the jarring shock when pain erupted in his gut.

Perhaps _baiting _his uncle really _was _a bad idea.

His breath whooshed out of him as he doubled over, and, teeth grit, the small teen shuddered. Behind him, the silverware began to clatter across the stone counter. The steady thrum of magic filled the air around him, the air cooling, and pain flared before he found himself sprawled on the ground. Above him, Vernon voice rose, his rant increasing in intensity to the point it was impossible for the boy's ringing ears to translate. He only knew that the pain was translating into _'flaming bloody pissed off Uncle Vernon.' _

Not uncommon, but unwelcome. As he pressed his back into the counters, he said, grin in place, "Do _too _much, Uncle, and Riddle and his friends are going to wonder why I'm limping when we see them next."

His Uncle froze, hand upraised, and, voice lowering, Hadrian added, "And let's not forget about Sirius. If he caught wind of this..."

Vernon's face turned purple, and the hand, wavering in midair, lowered to his side. A vicious smile threatened to appear, but, as he sat hunkered next to the counter, he didn't dare let it become visible. Vernon's temper was as wild as Hadrian's magic. Much to his surprise, the whale crouched in front of him, eyes narrowed, and he spoke with venom, "One foot out of line, freak, and you'll regret it. Not another jab out of you in front of Mr. Riddle and his companions. _Especially _in front of their son. And I don't want you doing _anything _that will ruin Dudley's chance on making a friend with Lucius's son. Got that, freak?"

"Of _course_, Uncle Vernon."

The stinging pain that shot across his face was answer. It hurt less than the words his uncle spat after. "You're no family of mine, freak."

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It was a _nightmare._

Draco stared at his surroundings, visibly disgusted, and tightened his grip on the handle of his suitcase. Did he _really _agree to this? _Really _agree? With his mother on his heel, the soft whisper of her dress ghosting in the air around him, he realized he had, indeed, agreed to this charade. If it hadn't been for Lord Marvolo, he would have refused. Yet he couldn't deny the inkling of curiosity about the life his _rival _lived outside of Hogwarts. How he acted, and behaved, when outside the presence of a mudblood and traitor. A _blood _traitor, at that.

The fact his _family _was composed of muggles didn't slip his mind. He had heard how everyone always talked about how pampered his yearmate was, how his life was everything anyone could want. There were times, however, when the boy flinched away from their professors. He kept his answers short and as vague as possible without being wrong. Factors that went against _everything _rumors said were true composed the very essence of Hadrian Potter.

He made his way to his quarters in the house, the smallness of the building itself disconnecting, but he admitted it was...pleasing. His father and the others were obviously intent on making their stay, and their master's, as comfortable as Marvolo Slytherin, the Dark Lord himself, crossed paths with him, Draco bowed his head in greeting.

A wave of shock flowed through him when a hand gently guided his head upward.

"Bow not to me, Draco." Lord Marvolo murmured. "Here, in this place, we are equals. I demand respect, but I do not want groveling. That is unbecoming of a Malfoy. It is unbecoming of _any _pureblood. Be the wizard you are supposed to be, and not anything less."

He blinked, and then nodded.

After being dismissed, he made his way upstairs. To his room. It was muggle. It was empty. Draco dropped his luggage on the bed, a scowl marring his features, and spelled the suitcase open. Then he remembered. No magic. He closed his eyes, and, teeth grit, placed his wand in its holster before manually emptying his trunk and placing everything, by _hand, _in order. Books on the shelves. Clothing in the drawers. School books, hidden under notice-me-nots, rested on the desk. This was _too _muggle.

His father left shortly after he arrived, promising to return for the 'party' tonight. Ministry business, his mother had explained. She was three doors down unpacking. His...aunt...was across the hall. And she was laughing. Manically. He questioned her husband's location. Perhaps he should have one of the others' hunt him down just in case she went a tad off her...rocker.

He sighed. He walked across the room, and leaned against the window to look at the house across the street from theirs. 4 Privet Drive. He mildly wondered why the house he was in was _7 _instead of _5, _but knew better than to question it. As he tugged on the dress shirt, he sighed. Muggle-made as they were, he had to admit that it was well done. Top class, no doubt. His father wouldn't wear anything else.

"Draco?" He looked over to see his mother is a flowing white skirt and periwinkle blue top, Roman-inspired sandals on her feet. It was odd to see her hair pulled up in a soft bun, strands loose to frame her face. Even as she glided across the room to stand behind him, one hand combing through his hair, messing it up in the process, he couldn't help but notice the way that, even with the way she was dressed, she still held herself like a queen. Her voice was gentle as she murmured, "We have a part to play, my dragon. An important one. I know not what Lord Marvolo is playing , but he wishes us to join in. So we shall."

Draco realized that. Instead, he turned to his mother, and said, "I just have a feeling that something isn't right. This entire place..."

Narcissa Malfoy ran her hands through his hair. "I know, little dragon. I sense it as well."

When night fell, he should have realized the obvious.

_Nothing _was simple with Potter.


	7. Chapter 7

He hadn't _meant _for it to happen.

Cooking was something he did on a _regular _basis, but this...was not. He fanned the smoke, yelping when his skin came in contact with the hot metal plates, and leapt away when Petunia, always quick on her feet, through a pan of water over the crackling device. Vernon, sitting on his backside and gaping like a fish, did nothing more than stare in complete and utter horror. Dudley ran out of the house screaming something about pigs and tails. Hadrian, cursing up a storm and trying to figure out how to reverse the fire without blowing up the _rest _of the house, nearly came out of his skin when a firm hand grasped his wrist. A second passed before he found himself pushed backwards, toppling over the arm of the couch, with an undignified yelp.

He rolled, landing hard on his knees, and felt his magic hiss around him as Voldemort, quicker than a snake, caught him around the waist and hauled him back onto the couch. It was a matter of seconds before the Dark Lord was hovering over him, a scowl on his face, and the distinct voice of panicking neighbors and the sharp vocals of Lucius and one of the twins filtered into his senses. As he twisted, trying to dislodge the larger male, he heard an all _too _familiar voice drawl, "Really, Potty, you should just lay there like a good Lion."

"Screw you, Malfoy!"

"Thanks, but no."

"Hold _still, _Potter." The sharp hiss was a mixture between English and Parseltongue, and, trapped, bent backwards over the arm of the sofa, Hadrian found his ire steadily increasing. Hadrian grit his teeth, but, when a knee pressed _too _close to a boundary he didn't want crossed, he forced himself still. His eyes narrowed, and the general dislike for the entire situation was expressed through the venomous glare of killer green irises. Gritting his teeth, he snapped, "Why the _hell _are you all here?!"

"The rear of your house _exploded, _Mr. Potter." It was Snape that spoke, the sharp tones of his voice, cutting and generally cold, unmistakable.

"I told you I like blowing shit up."

In the background, he heard his uncle choke. Or was that his aunt?

"Not to mention your _cousin _ran down the street screaming something about pigs, tails, and _magic_." Voldemort murmured, a wicked grin stretching across his face. From the doorway, he heard Vernon howl, "No such thing! Magic!? What magic? Nothing to see here! I'll take care of my nephew!"

"Didn't you just say -"

_"Shut _it, boy!" When Vernon made a gesture for Voldemort to move, the Dark Lord merely sat back, straddling one thigh, as he asked, rather sweetly, "I do have to ask, Mr. Dursley, where all those _bruises _came from?"

_Bruises? What bruises?_ Hadrian's very thoughts were echoed by his uncle, and the raven-haired youth, blinking, felt his eyes widen in horror when a cold hand grazed the skin of his abdomen. Nails scraped the skin, and, shocked into stillness, he registered the entire situation. Him, spread out on the couch. His uncle, seething. The amused glint in everyone's, minus his aunt, eyes. His _shirt, _rolled up high on his chest and pants riding low. Dark Lord, Murderer of Parents, Bane of his Life, and the Man-Who-Tried-To-Kill-Him-Every-Damn-Year on top of him. An irrational burst of heat exploded, his face flushing, his skin glowing a vibrant red from his face to the soles of his feet, and he panicked.

"You _bloody,_ Merlindamnedfucking _pedo_ on _steroids_!" Hadrian's hand collided with Voldemort's face, knocking the older wizard backwards with a startling amount of power, a burst of magic whipping outwards, and, in flight-or-fight, toppled off the couch, stumbled, and darted out of the room. He heard Snape yelling at him for language, but he paid it no heed as he dashed out the backyard, jumped the hedges, and vanished into the forest behind it.

And he was rather certain he saw Fenrir Greyback marking his territory as he passed.

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A shocked silence fell over the the Dursley household as Hadrian Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, vanished after bounding a good seven feet in the air to clear the hedge in the back of the Dursley's yard. With the kitchen wall missing, the wood scorched, a sense of complete disbelief settled over the room. Some in shock to the vulgar words that came out of the boy's mouth. Others to the smoke clogging the air. And, lastly, the wizards to the utter rudeness showed to the Dark Lord, from the very boy they were befuddled by, who outranked him in magic tenfold.

Then Draco began laughing.

Bella, standing in the doorway, was giggling like mad. Her husband, with an arm around her waist, hand clamped over his mouth, his head bowed, was trembling with repressed mirth. Lucius, blank-faced, was twitching. Snape was seething, already stepping through the hole in the wall while muttering something about mindless Lions, while Narcissa, staring at her surroundings in complete wonder, absently went about righting overturned objects with a dark glint in her eye. Marvolo was certain half of those items would be missing afterwards, and crushed into oblivion by magic.

He rose from the ground, his cheek stinging, and he absently ran a hand through his hair.

And, from behind him, he heard someone ask, "Did that...did he..._really?"_

His gaze shifted towards Vernon Dursley, who was on the ground and trembling and looking about ready to faint. Petunia was looking around her in dismay, and slowly sank to the ground in defeat. His gaze slid towards the door the fat lard of a son ran through, and absently wondered how the boy could run so quickly when he his weight pulled on him so heavily. And _none _of that was muscle, no matter _what _the stupid muggles said.

"I believe we were talking about _bruises, _Mr. Dursley, before your nephew bolted. Care to explain?"

Vernon Dursley turned white.


	8. Chapter 8

There was something...phenomenal...about the situation in its entirety.

Marvolo stalked closer to where the _whale _sat, pale and a blight to existence. The other muggles outside of the Dursleys were unconscious, the spells having hit fast and hard. One was toppled over the top of a vase, snoring, and another was reclining on the stairwell at the front of the house. Petunia Dursley, a woman he knew Severus was familiar with due to _Lily Potter, _merely sat, resigned, as she watched him pass with a look of utter hopelessness.

His smile eased onto his face as Vernon, blubbering nonsense, tried to scoot away.

Like it would make a difference.

"Bruises, Mr. Dursley." He stated, calmly, as his wand twirled around between his fingers. "Last I checked, it is a capital offense to _abuse _a child in your care. Bane of my life or not, that also applies to Potter."

A mental laugh rang through his mind at the thought of their reactions when he had pulled the boy on his lap not all that long ago. Outrage. Disbelief. Fury. He could recall each emotion. He could remember how the air was thick with sensations, their ire sharp and unyielding. As he stopped in front of the whale washed ashore, he smiled. "As it is, this _farce _has reached a new level, Mr. Dursley, and I do not like being ignored."

Lazily, Marvolo pressed the tip of his yew wand, the wood pale and alive with sentient magic, against the man's temple.

"There's two ways we can do this; you can tell me, or I'll carve the truth out of your head. The choice...is yours."

The smile he wore was anything but pleasant.

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Hadrian ran like his _life _depended on it. He didn't stop. He didn't slow down. He ran.

Inwardly, he mentally berated himself for the slip. Cursing _Merlin _in front the Dursleys? Salazar! _Godric! _He dunked under a branch, and, with a burst of speed, found himself stumbling out of the woods and into an old abandoned park deep within the wilderness surrounding Little Whining, Surrey. He collapsed against the swing set, and sank into the worn leather with a chocked laugh.

"I...knocked Riddle in the face." The thought brought a snort from him, and he propped his elbows on his knees.

_"Merlin, _ I knocked the _Dark Lord _on his ass..."

The thought alone made his blood chill. He absently ran a hand through his hair, his fingers catching on the snags in it, and found a grin pulling at his mouth. That entire ordeal...was surreal. He wasn't sure how long he sat out in the cold, but evening slowly descended, and he sensed the magic approaching before a lithe form dropped on the seat next to him. A quick glance showed it to be Malfoy, the _younger _one, and Hadrian found himself wondering how the teen tracked him down through the forest.

"I knew you could run, Potty, but _that _was impressive." The blonde said some time after sitting down, one hand resting on the chain of the swing set, and then he felt those grey eyes boring into the side of his face. Hadrian shook his head, shrugged, and answered, "I've always been a good runner."

"No shit." He came out of his seat, whirling around, to find Snape standing there, arms folded, and a scowl marring his features. "Do you have _any _clue how hard it is to track you down in a forest at this time of night? _Especially _when your magic is everywhere? Your magical signature is impossible to _trace _when it covers every inch of this forest."

"Uh...then how...you...Draco?"

Snape shook his head. "Salazar..."

Hadrian found himself shifting from one foot to the other, his eyes darting from one side of the part to the other in search for the most obvious threat. One that he _knew _was close. He could _sense _him in the area, just beyond his range, and found himself trembling. His gaze shifted back to his professor, and, after clearing his throat, muttered, "Not like I can control that aspect, you know..."

"Nonsense." Snape dismissed, a scowl in place. "Controlling your magic is a simple task. That _is _what your wand is for."

"And how do you explain the kitchen I _blew up?" _Hadrian felt the scowl, the irritation, and the heavy exhaustion wearing him out. Weighing him down. It was impossible to concentrate, and, as he sank into the seat of the swing, he scowled at his professor. "So what exactly are you all planning? Obviously not _killing _me, given that I'm _still _alive. Torture is possible..."

His mother's scream echoed in the back of his mind. The steady pulse of familiar magic neared.

Hadrian sighed. Voldemort was approaching, and the air around him reeked of dark magic. Even as the man stepped into the clearing, flanked by his followers, and, indeed, one Fenrir Greyback, Hadrian realized this entire situation was more than he could withstand. Even Draco Malfoy, sitting by him on one of two swings, was not an ideal fit for the muggle settlement. And, if judging by the magic wrapping around these wizards, and few witches, it was only a matter of time before the Ministry showed up.

His gaze shifted between those standing in front of him, a bit of irritation mixing in his blood as Voldemort, Dark Lord of the Century, came to stop before him. Dark Hair. Red eyes. Pale skin. No scales. No snake face. He had a nose. He wondered if Snape was behind this new appearance. With the magic wrapping around them, a deadly cocoon of power, Hadrian knew that there were no glamours. There were no spells. Everything, and everyone, was at their fullest. Seen as they truly are.

He stiffened when thin, long fingers grasped his chin and forced him to look up. Red met green.

"It seems we have a great deal to discuss, my little lion." Those eyes were unreadable. Hadrian curled his hands into fists, nails biting into palms, as he clenched his pants in weak, trembling and exhausted hands. The action was seen, and the Dark Lord, dark victory, and something akin to amusement, leaned in, the hissed words soft and inviting against his ear. '_A great deal indeed.'_


	9. Chapter 9

Screams echoed in the backdrop of his mind.

An infant, wailing, locked tight in a small and dark space. A little boy, dark hair and bright eyed, sitting in a dark corner and watching as a family ate while he fed upon meager scrapes. The first signs of magic, exposed within the first month of living with a muggle family. A man yelling at the infant for crying. There were countless memories locked in the muggle's mind, each more horrid than the next. Marvolo eyed the man, and turned his gaze towards his companions.

Lucius was behind him, the thin, dark-haired child soundly asleep in his arms. Magic rippled through the boy, lulling him deeper and deeper into a dreamless sleep. Caused by magic or not, it was needed. Narcissa and Draco stood next to the head of the Malfoy Clan, their gazes dark and dangerous. Murderous. The others were scattered about, wards rising in place to ensure the Ministry did not interfere should they...arrive before they had left.

His gaze shifted toward the whale's spouse, the woman thin and drawn. Petunia was still on the floor, her gaze on her hands, her fingers laced together in her lap. She had not looked up, not even when her husband began screaming from the mental intrusion. Now she looked, undoubtedly feeling his gaze boring into her. Thin. Pale. Eyes dark and grim.

"You knew, but did nothing." He approached her, and gestured to her husband. "Even as he _cried, _you did nothing. Is there no _love _between you two?"

"Perhaps there was, once upon a time..." Her voice was soft, withdrawn, and then she shook her head. "Not any longer..."

"Do not lie, Petunia." Marvolo's gaze shifted towards the Potions Master, at the dark, at the _murderous, _expression on his face. At the venom in his voice. "You never loved him. You never loved _Lily -"_

"I loved my sister!" Petunia was on her feet in a matter of seconds, eyes ablaze. "Lily was _everything _to me! But you...you and _your_ kind took her away!"

Marvolo glanced between the two. Vernon's memories lurked in the backdrop of his mind. His marriage to this woman, when they were young. She had readily agreed to marry the man, despite the obvious dislike she held. It was something akin to an arranged marriage. Expect that it wasn't. There was a story here, dark and desperate and filled with resentment. With hopelessness.

From the memories he had viewed, not once had she laid a hand on either child. Scolded them, certainly. But never harm. Never abuse.

"The muggle world was not _meant _for her, Petunia." Marvolo blinked, and turned his gaze back to the conversation at hand as Severus stepped closer to the woman. There was a tension, so thick it could be cut easily. "Those with magic cannot reside with those _lacking _it."

Petunia Dursley nee Evans trembled, strands of hair loose and framing her face. "Then why couldn't I have gone to _her _world?"

Marvolo frowned.

He exchanged looks with the others, a sense of understanding rising within. His gaze shifted back to the woman as he asked, "Had you not asked?"

"I did ask!" She whirled around on him, eyes ablaze. "I wrote to that blasted man, and asked to stay with my sister. When he said I couldn't, I asked if I could come and visit her. Again, he said it wasn't possible..."

Lies. Marvolo's gaze narrowed. Years ago, Severus pleaded for Lily's life. He presented the offer. She declined. For her son's behalf. Dumbledore's reach went far, regardless of all that occurred. Potter, sleeping soundly, while he did bait his family, was so very protective. He recalled his rebirth, his second entrance into the world. The Hufflepuff boy, and the way he had died. How Potter had tried to save his friend. A trait passed on, undoubtedly.

"You were jealous of her..." Severus's voice was soft. A forewarning of approaching danger. Marvolo observed the Potions Master, and then his gaze slid back to the woman in question. His eyes closed. Across from him, he heard her voice, broken and lost, mutter, "I was jealous that she was able to leave this hell while I was forced to remain. I was _jealous _she was able to find a better life after our family died."

Understanding. Marvolo opened his gaze, and raised his wand.

Petunia Dursley nee Evans slumped to the ground, unconscious, oblivious to the chaos that reigned in the wake of his fury.

Vernon Dursley perished that night, and his wife and son disappeared. Both gone without a trace.

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_Not him! Not Hadrian! _His mother's desperate pleads filled his mind as he drifted in a world between wakefulness and true sleep. _Take me! Please. Please, not my Hadrian!_

As he stirred, he felt softness. Sheets, warm and pristine, under his hands. Clothing, soft and flowing, on his skin. His eyes opened, the world blurring as he sat up and looked around his surroundings. A room. Large. A bed with a canopy. Large windows. Lots of light. Not Privet Drive. He could sense Voldemort somewhere close, his magic a steady hum of power. Hadrian frowned, mind ablaze.

What had happened?

Images. His uncle's rage. The stinging pain as he was backhanded. The stove catching fire. The kitchen exploding. Voldemort. The couch. Greyback reliving himself in his backyard for some inane reason he couldn't quite grasp. A laughing Bellatrix. Draco and Snape and Malfoy and Lady Malfoy. And then Voldemort again, a spell slamming into him and drawing him into the darkness of a dreamless sleep.

The Dark Lord had knocked him _unconscious!_

"Uncool." He muttered as he stood, grimacing as the world sway. "So _fucking _uncool. Seriously? Hit on me first, and _then _knock me out? What is wrong with these people?"

"Talking to yourself is the first signs of insanity, _Harry." _Hadrian whirled around, spitting with anger, as his magic lashed outward. A hand caught his forearm, whipped him around, and hauled him close as the teen snapped, "My. Name. Is. Hadrian. Merlindamnit! Not _Harry. _And let _go_, you fucking pedo!"

"Pedo?" A shocked laugh came from the Dark Lord, a sound deep and altogether unexpected. Hadrian's eyes widened as a dark glint entered those red eyes, and, within moments, he was backed up towards the bed. Riddle leaned in, a dark gleam in his gaze as he said, "Trust me, _Hadrian, _if _that _was my intention, I would not be so subtle."

The man's voice was soft, low, and Hadrian squeaked as that slender hand caressed the side of his neck. Long fingers brushed his skin as wine red eyes filled his vision, a warm breath misting across his lips. Close...he was so close! Swallowing, he tried to ease away. The edge of the bed hit the back of his knees, and he nearly fell. Voldemort, still holding onto him, smirked. "But, as it is, you have a _great _deal to learn before I tear into your body and magic. Business first, my little Lion. Pleasure can wait until -"

"Back the fuck up!" Hadrian jerked away, magic lashing outward and slamming into the wizard holding him. He darted around the bed, ignoring Voldemort's deep laughter. He was out the door, and halfway down the hall, when Malfoy, the elder of the two, caught hold of him. "And where do you think you're going, Mr. Potter? Last I checked, my wife has not given you leave from your bed. Let alone your room."

"No!" Hadrian struggled. "Do _not _put me back in that room with a pedo! You damn prissy peacock, _put me down!"_

As Lucius manhandled one Hadrian Potter into the room he had just escaped, a floor down sat Dudley and Draco. Both boys watched, with various signs of baffled amusement and confusion, as the youngest person in the manor shrieked. The resounding explosion of magic shook the manor, the chandelier letting out soft, musical notes as it swung madly in its place, and both boys grimaced.

Narsissa, sipping at her tea with a nervous, fidgeting Petunia across from her, sighed. She set her cup down, and rose from her seat.

"And here I hoped the tension would ease. It would seem that I was mistaken."


	10. Chapter 10

Hadrian paced.

There was little else he could do, and, with the Malfoys sitting across from him, _running _was not an option. With the Lestrange brothers next to the door, the hopes of evening getting the door _open _were nonexistent. Kidnapping. Merlin, this was messed up. But Tom Riddle, known by Voldemort by almost everyone in the world, _was_ a Dark Lord. At least the man had the decency to allow him to get his education before being a prick at the end of every year.

Except for this year. He didn't have the patience to even let school _begin _before making his life a living hell.

He sighed.

He felt Draco's gaze on him, the young noble frowning as he traced his path with dark grey irises. He knew his aunt and cousin were somewhere in the vicinity, though _where _was the question. He had seen them earlier, both sitting ramrod straight, so tense and taut that bumping into them would knock them over. Then he was caught by Snape, and dragged back to bed. Like a child who needed to be scolded for getting himself sick.

By _Snape_.

_I need to rest? Rest my ass! _He kicked the table, a low growl rising in the back of his throat. Voldemort, though...he couldn't sense him. Not even a brush of warmth from his magic. Or a surge of agony from the man's ire. The second was always a dead give away when something was going to happen. Slowing, he rubbed his forehead. That agony was nearly crippling when Voldemort decided to...flip the dice on the matters of custody, as the man had so elegantly put it.

Custody. _Forced _custody, really. _Kidnapping_.

"Perhaps this is a bad idea..." Hadrian turned his gaze on Draco, and eyed the furrowed brow. The teen was holding a book in one hand, but it was limp, unread, and Hadrian had a sneaking suspicion the Slytherin wasn't even reading it anymore. The older boy didn't look up as he continued to mutter, "Bloody hell, that was one suggestion I shouldn't have made..."

What? What suggestion? His eyes narrowed, green irises flashing with warning. "What did you do, Draco?"

"Perhaps something I _shouldn't _have." The teen stood, one hand absently running through his hair. "Salazar, I think I've signed everyone's death certificate with this..."

They stood across from each other. Grey clashed with green. Pale against tan. Nobility against...whatever he was. Malfoy and Lady Malfoy observed them from the distance, and, as Hadrian resumed his pacing, he sensed a shift in the energy around them. Agitation? Nervousness? Damn masks, and their ability to hide what these people were feeling. Turning on his heel, he faced Draco.

"Is there not somewhere else besides this room, and my _bedroom, _that I can go?" He really didn't like being confined to two rooms. Draco cocked his head to the side, blinking owlishly, before a slow smirk curled his lips. Stepping closer, Draco replied, "There's plenty of places we can go, _Hadrian_. We just have to be sure that you're not going to try and do something stupid."

"Like run away?" Hadrian retorted. Draco snorted. "As if you could. And we didn't _kidnap _you, you moronic lion."

"Then what the _fuck _do you call it?!" Hadrian snapped back, the lamp next to him shattering. "He knocked me out, and then brought me here. When I try to leave, he won't _let me. _If that isn't kidnapping, then what the fuck is?"

"Language, Potter." It came from the doorway, and Snape, standing there with a deep scowl, looked worse than he had seen him in some time. "As it is, I believe we have come to a...solution to your discomfort here. Courtesy to Draco. Be thankful."

Draco's drawn out sigh answered Snape's comment, followed by a low murmur, "...more like our deaths."

Ignoring Draco's comment, Snape continued, "And, for all intents and purposes, we helped you a great deal."

"How did you come to _that_ conclusion?"

Snape leveled an unamused stare on him. "You are no longer at the Dursleys, are you not?"

He...had a point. Anywhere was better than 4 Privet Drive. Not that he'd admit to that.

Hadrian's shoulders slumped. Even if he was able to do something, dodge the Malfoys or the Lestrange brothers, he was still sans a wand. Voldemort had _abducted _that as well. Something about reckless use of magic and an unhealthy lack of self-preservation. Whatever that meant. Plopping down in a seat by the fireplace, he glared at the wizards, and witch, in the room.

A solution to his discomfort? He wasn't _uncomfortable. _He was flaming mad_. Outraged_. Sick with anger. Nails biting into the armrests, he drew in a deep breath. Even without his wand, he was still able to do some damage. His gaze flickered to the still-broken lamp, and the narrowed glowered on Lucius Malfoys face. Still to keen, that man. Much too keen. Running his hands through his hair, he let his muscles relax.

Thoughts passed. Images. Ideas. And then an internal rush of warmth. Of elation. A _plan_.

"Fine. Fine!" He sat up, still glaring. Rising to his face, pacing, hands folded behind his back, he drew in a steady breath. Malfoy Manor. That put him in the Wizarding World. Which meant there had to be _others _living nearby. Had to be. Turning on his heel, he sighed. "Fine. Alright. You win. I'll try to not blow you up in the meantime, but I would like to have my _privacy _restored. If I may be so humble to _ask _for it."

_If they want to play games, then I'll set a field they've never seen before._

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Marvolo paused.

He was standing on a sidewalk, a muggle home glaring out at him. A sense of unease stirred, and the link between him and his lion grew dark. Warm. The brat was plotting, it seemed. He felt the beginnings of a smirk rise on his face as he made his way down the sidewalk. The little Gryffindor didn't know what who, or what, he was getting involved with. Games. Those were of _his _expertise.

Though the young lion had proven himself to be able to throw some nasty surprises none of them could have anticipated. Marvolo felt it was only...right to return the favor. As he stopped in front of the door, the wood a dark auburn, a rare sort of wood, he inwardly praised Draco for his ingenious thought. While it would make things more...lively at the manor, he didn't doubt he could use his soon-to-be chip as a bargaining tool.

He knocked on the door, and folded his hands behind his back to wait.

Yes, he was fairly certain this would work out in his favor. As the door opened, revealing a middle-aged man with greying hair, Marvolo offered a sharp smile. The muggle was confused, certainly, and regarded him with steadily narrowing eyes. This man stepped back, giving them both more room, as he said, "I take it that you're here to see my daughter."

"You are correct," Marvolo waited until the doorway was clear before stepping into the house. For muggles, they knew design. Spacious. Open. To his left was the open archway leading into a dining room. The kitchen was undoubtedly connected, and, to his right, was the front room. In front of him was a hallway with a staircase on the left. Wealthy. Who would have thought? He turned, and regarded the man. "Is your daughter home, Mr..."

"David." The man replied. "I don't go by the other. That would be my father. My gal is upstairs. She'll be down in a moment. Is everything alright?"

"Things in our world are a bit tense right now, David." Marvolo took a seat in the front room, and crossed his ankle over his knee. "I have obtained temporary custody of a friend of hers, and it would seem he needs someone to help...balance him out. He's gone through quite a lot this summer, and his nerves are fried. Unfortunate, really."

Jean, David's wife, was soon introduced. She offered them tea, which both took with grace, and the woman, Jean, spoke kindly. She was most curious about his world. Marvolo found the situation to be peculiar. A muggle...who was accepting of the world of magic and those in it. Interesting. She departed soon after, venturing upstairs to summon her only child, and Marvolo felt the beginnings of a dark smile emerge. As the girl in question came downstairs, her voice soft and confused, his eyes closed.

"Daddy?" The girl was coming closer. Jasmine floated through the room. "Who is this? Mum said it was someone from school..."

Marvolo rose, and turned. Brown eyes widened. "I have been to your school, Miss Granger. And I'm afraid I am in _dire _need of your assistance."


	11. Chapter 11

Summer. It was one of the few seasons she liked.

Hermione liked the warmth. She liked the small break from the intense studying she had to do to understand the world she had unexpectedly fallen into shy of five years ago. She enjoyed being with her parents. She loved her cat, who was currently on edge and hair all frizzed. She even liked the city she lived in, and the fashion she saw coming and going. She did not, however, like the man in front of her.

And, like any normal person confronted by the Dark Lord, she did the logical thing.

She threw a hex at him, and made a run for it.

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Hadrian surveyed the gardens, Draco at his side, with a sense of wonder. It was rather peaceful out here. Narcissa was on his other side, her gown gliding across the ground, and he idly wondered what Draco could have done that made the pale noble so uneasy. The blond teen was stiff, and a small frown was marring his face, and he was obviously worried he had made life for the rest of them that much harder.

If only he knew what _he _was planning. Hadrian pushed the thought away, and paused.

"Is that a peacock?" Sure enough, the bird was there. Narcissa and Draco were staring at him, eyebrows raised, but he ignored their looks in favor of staring at the flamboyant bird. And it stared back, pristine and prissy like the Malfoys it lived with. Did they take lessons from a _bird_? He eased closer, and watched, fascinated, as it spread it feathers. A brilliant array of color bloomed in front of his eyes.

Pretty.

"They have been in the family for a long time." Hadrian bit back the scowl, and turned his gaze on the senior Malfoy. Lucius entered the gardens, cane clicking against the ground, and their gazes met. Hadrian held his gaze for a long moment before asking, "You really should show my aunt this. I'm certain she'd like it here."

"She's currently getting measured for some new...clothing." Malfoy replied. Hadrian blinked. Draco, taking the momentary quiet, spoke up, "So is your cousin, might I add. I have a few friends coming over as well. You and Blaise seemed to get along, somewhat, in school. Did a few projects together..."

Was Draco...trying to be helpful? Hadrian frowned. Zabini, though? The Italian wasn't all bad. Quiet, sure, but insanely intelligent. With a rather odd crush on Parkinson, if anyone would believe it. Well, Hadrian was certain the dark-skinned Slytherin was actually in _love _with the girl, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Though, if Zabini was going to be here, didn't that mean -

"Theo's also coming over. A few of the girls might be able to make it." Draco frowned, brow furrowed. "And, on that note, I really should stop giving Lord Marvolo suggestions. They always do more harm than good, in the end..."

"You sent him after Hermione, didn't you." It wasn't a question. Draco blinked, shock evident in his gaze, and Hadrian outright laughed. Were these people _stupid _or what? And they thought _he _was bad? Half the things he learned, he learned from _her! _He shook his head. He caught Draco's eye, a sharp grin spreading across his face as he said, "And you wanted to make me comfortable? Well, you've accomplished _that, _Draco. But, if I'd been you, I would have advised Ron or Luna. Hermione? Merlin, I'm surrounded by idiots!"

Hadrian walked away from the paling adults, laughing all the while.

How he loved the wizarding world.

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An hour later, when the searing pain of the Curse Mark in his head acted up, he wanted nothing more than to curse it into oblivion. He was sitting in his room, on his bed, when it slammed into him. He dropped his fork, and toppled off the soft covers as Narcissa, Merlin bless the woman, disappeared to his side. Riddle had arrived, it seemed, and was far from happy. Enraged, it seemed. Infuriated.

He hopes Hermione was alright. As the door came out of the wall, Riddle sweeping in with eyes red with rage, he was happy to see Hermione on his heels with a very dangerous expression on her face. And then he realized it was directed at him, and his jaw dropped. He was struggling to sit up, disbelief chilling his views, as he watched Voldemort, Dark Lord of Pricks, step out of the way and let her storm past him.

And then Hermione was in his face, busy hair surrounding him.

"Hadrian James Potter!" Her finger stabbed him in the forehead, and brown eyes filled his vision. "All these years, that obese whale was hurting you, and you didn't tell me _anything? _You stupid, stubborn, prideful -"

Hadrian stumbled away, and paled as she pursued him. Riddle's ire was melting, and, as he tripped over the apple on the floor, felt the surprise leaking in as the alpha female _lion _continued to rant, "...and all this time, you could have _said _something? And what about the nightmares? Were you lying when you said they stopped? And, oh, I'm going to show Dumbledore that muggle investigations _are _important! Putting you with a magic-hating fat man! What was he _thinking?_"

In the background, he heard Draco groan before saying, "I _really_ should have kept my mouth shut..."


	12. Chapter 12

He was _never _taking advice from Draco again. Ever.

Marvolo watched as Hadrian Potter, Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Pain-In-His-Arse, dunked out of the outraged She-Lion's path as she turned her magic on the room, and began cleaning up the mess. Potter stayed on the sideline, green eyes following his classmate. Marvolo hadn't expected her to come along with so little a complaint, though, when it came down to it, he suspected it had something to do with Gryffindor loyalty. The young witch was a force to be reckoned with, and Draco, after a hard glare from the mentioned girl, was quick to help in the tidying of the room. Watching how the lithe Slytherin responded, the situation became obvious. It nearly had him smiling, Salazar forbid, and, as he leaned against the wall watching them, he let his mind settle back.

One, he was fairly certain the blond noble had a crush on the younger lion. He was clumsy around her, and quick to jump to action when she told him to do something. Hadrian, having relaxed a considerable amount, was giving her a large amount of space, green eyes stalking her with wary suspicion. No doubt wondering why she was there, uninjured, and seemingly unconcerned about the large number of Dark supporters, and Death Eaters, in the area. He couldn't help but wonder what she would do if she knew _everything_ that had gone down. Or his intentions. He doubted she would have come so willingly, proof of abuse aside.

And to think she knew the basics building blocks of legilimency and occlumency. It was rather astonishing. Not that she could keep _him _out of her mind, if he was so inclined, but she had witnessed, firsthand, the smaller details of what went on in that infernal house. He mentally debated setting 4 Privet Drive to fire, just to ensure no one tried to send the boy _back _to a house that was any magical child's nightmare.

Though he had caught a glimpse of the massive library her mind was shaped into, with several floors and twisting passages included.

Granger was more of a _raven _then a lion, he suspected. Though how she got into Gryffindor was obvious. He needed only watch her interact with the two boys to see _that_ clearly. Perhaps inviting the other Slytherins over for dinner wasn't the best of plans, though Marvolo was certain it would prove to be entertaining. It should ensure a means for Hadrian to loosen up. To unwind. Debating, and arguing, with the serpents was something he was accustomed to. Something he's done for four years. The She-Lion would be the mediator, reeling everything back in with a sharp word, should it get _too _wild. And it would guarantee Draco would think things through, all plans remembered, before doing something so reckless.

Two, he suspected Potter was going to question the girl relentlessly the moment they were alone.

For the past half-hour, he had watched her. He said little, though, when she started in on Draco for sending _him _after her, he saw the first hint of an actual smile ease onto Potter's lips. The tension melted, a slow decline, from his shoulders. His stance became a little relaxed, though the wariness was still there. Routine. Potter knew how to handle an irate Granger, and he hope the glimpses of memory, and hidden magic, he brushed against her mind would wake up her inner Raven and urge her to investigate. There wasn't quiet anything like a Raven with a mission.

Three, he really need to have a _long_ conversation with Greyback.

The infernal werewolf was marking his territory again.

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"How the hell could you believe him?"

Hadrian eyed Hermione, glad they were finally alone, and the curly-haired witched leveled a rather blank look on him. Critical. Her mind was working, going through whatever information that had gotten her there. His expression remained passive, green eyes taking in the smallest of changes on her face. Hermione finally sighed, and plopped down on the end of the bed. She gestured for him to join her, and Hadrian, already having a faint idea on _what _was going through her head, different conclusions coming up and either being accepted or rejected, did as he was bade without comment.

She was silent for a moment, gaze distant, but when she spoke, it was with perfect calm. "I came downstairs, ready to mail a few letters, and there he was...sitting on the couch drinking tea with my parents."

He knew exactly how odd that was. Riddle did that with _his _family, and Hadrian didn't _like _the Dursleys all that much. Hermione, though? He knew well enough that she loved her parents, and having a muggle-killing Dark Lord sitting there talking about mundane things, in your front room, with the people you cared about...he wasn't all that sure how terrifying _that _scene was. Though he suspected if _he _came downstairs to find Riddle talking with Hermione, Ron, and Luna...he would have come unhinged and started firing spells regardless of the Ministry's orders.

"He told me he took you from the Dursleys due to the fact your uncle was, uh, _not nice _to you. And, no, those were _not _his exact words." She frowned, and brushed a curly strand of hair out of her face. He noted the silver bracelet around her wrist, and the hairpin holding her bangs back against her face. She was likely in the middle of studying when Riddle showed up. The mental image was rather humorous considering her knack for analyzing a situation and acting on the fastest course of action to ensure the safety of those she cared for. Hadrian blinked as she said, "And I _didn't _believe him."

"But you do now." The accusation was there, a little sharper than he intended.

"He showed me a few of the things that happened. Memories he had...taken." Hadrian stilled. Not just physically, but mentally. She had seen...memories? _Whose _memories? Riddle wasn't privy to every moment in that house, so there was no _way _the man could have access to such information. Was it faked? As if sensing his racing thoughts, and knowing his temper, Hermione sat a hand on his arm as she said, "Magic, Hadrian. There are special branches which allow witches and wizards to...link minds. I've been reading up on it due to your nightmares. Two branches. One to invade the minds of others, and the other to block_ from _witches and wizards from invading your thoughts. Getting hit by a wandless, and voiceless spell, was a bit terrifying...but not nearly as much as what I saw..."

She was quiet, though he sensed there was a question coming.

There was always a question when she had that distant, pained look on her face.

When she peeked up, brown eyes damp, he prepared for the worst. Her voice wavered as she asked, "Did they _really _make you sleep in a cupboard?"

He blanked. Cupboard. Dark nights. Learning to not cry. An irate uncle storming down the steps.

Riddle had shown _Hermione _something along those lines?

That bastard was going to _die._


	13. Chapter 13

"...and you _blew up the kitchen?"_

The wizard glanced up from his book, his gaze on the herd of teenagers sitting in front of the hearth, and frowned. He looked over at Rastaban, his twin's eyes dancing with laughter, before Rodolphus turned his gaze on his wife. She was sprawled out on the couch next to him, head in his lap and her hand tucked under her cheek. It was times like this that he adored the woman, when all her guards were down and she was content to entrust her safety to him. It didn't happen often. He ran a hand down her neck, intrigued by the curve of her shoulder and the subtle rise of her breas-

"Uncle Rodolphus?" He blinked, and his gaze lifted to his smirking nephew. He pointedly ignored the sniggering teenagers, and the girls rolling their eyes, as he replied, "Yes, Draco?"

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, _get a room." _It came from Parkinson, and he heard Rabastan choke on his drink behind him. Then, much to everyone's surprise, Potter cut into the conversation, "I'd much rather Greyback go to a _bathroom _before they get a _bedroom_. Merlin. Of all the things I thought I'd see in a _muggle _town, it was not a werewolf with his pants dropped to the ground."

The young wizard shuddered afterward. Rodolphus didn't blame him. He'd walked into the showers one time too many, with the intent to wash away the day's grim, only to find the mentioned werewolf standing in the middle of the room, stark ass naked, more than he'd ever _care _to admit. And it was always his _personal _bathroom, to make things worse. Wolves. Did they have no decency? And to think Lord Marvolo was cursing the wolf at this very moment for improper exposure when there was a herd of teenagers in the Manor.

He mentally wondered why it _mattered _when most of them already knew what the Dark Lord planned for the hero.

It was enough to make even Bellatrix loose a night of sleep and keep her up giggling like mad.

He would never understand fangirls.

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"I'm going to be upfront about this," Hadrian sighed, his gaze shifting to Parkinson and her sharp gaze cutting into Hermione. The curly-haired witch blinked, turning to face the other girl, as the Slytherin girl commented, rather bluntly, "I don't care what everyone else says, but you, Granger, are a total bitch."

Hermione frowned, eyes narrowing. _"I'm _a bitch? Coming from the girl whose _known _to castrate people?"

What? Hadrian snapped his head to the side, gaze settling on the two girls, and stared, uncertain if he was hearing what he was hearing, as Parkinson snapped, "And each of them deserved it! You, on the other hand, are a ranting, enraged _cow _who happens to like bossing people around a little _too _much!"

_Oh, Merlin, they're going to start a fight right in the Malfoy's living room. _Hadrian tossed a beseeching look towards Zabini, and the stepped back, hands coming up, and mouthed _'No Way In Hell' _right back at him. Hadrian scowled. Zabini was afraid of the girl he was _crushing _on? Seriously? Across from them, Hermione stamped her foot on the ground, eyes narrowed as she retorted, "Then I take it you haven't spent an _hour _in Ron's company _without _insulting him. Sometimes I have to be _bossy _because that's the only way _he _will do his homework. Or read the books we're assigned!"

"And what's your excuse with Potter?" Hermione paused, gaze shifting towards Nott, and Hadrian groaned. They were ganging up on her. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. A cornered Hermione was one even _he _didn't ever want to confront. And they were cornering her. The witch hugged herself, honey-brown eyes hard, her mouth opening, then closing, and Hadrian, voice light, finally said, "Go upstairs, Hermione."

She didn't need an escape route exposed twice. She vanished out of the room, and he turned on the Slytherins in front of him, voice low, as he snapped, "Yes, she is a bossy teenager. She can get mean, when the situation calls for it, but do you honestly think _ganging up on her _is going to do her any good?"

"She walks over people, Potter. Yourself included!" Parkinson hissed, and Hadrian rolled his eyes.

"No, she _doesn't _walk all over me. I know where she's coming from when she does that." He held up a hand as their mouths opened, and narrowed his gaze until they closed. Draco was sitting, frowning, while the others shifted in their spots. Once he was certain he had their attention, and ignoring the red-eyed man coming up behind him, he continued, "Or have your forgotten she was raised in a _muggle _world, is borderline genius, and never had a friend in her _life _before coming to Hogwarts? That she was raised with children who would either want to use her because she's smarter than them, or were afraid of her because _odd things _happened when she was involved?"

Did they honestly think the bossiness was _intentional? _That she did it because she was mean, or spiteful?

He scowled. "She bosses people around because _she _was bossed around by people who _said _they were her friends. She's not nearly as bad as she was in first year, when she was judged and disliked because she came from a muggle household. So, before you start _judging _people, and the things they do, get the actual damn facts behind their behavior. Otherwise, you might push someone off the deep end without even realizing it."

He turned, and brushed past Riddle. He felt the man's gaze on his back as he shouldered his way out of the room, and made his way upstairs. Behind him, he heard the beginnings of a faint conversation, in which Riddle was leading, and trooped up the stairs to his bedroom. He paused outside the door, listening to the soft sniffles coming from the other side of the door, and closed his eyes. Great. She was crying. Damn snakes and their sharp tongues. After a moment, he eased the door, and stepped into the room.

Hermione was cuddled up against the headboard of his bed, arms wrapped around her knees, and she refused to look at him as he closed the door. He crossed the room, sat next to her, and kept his silence. Yes, she bossed people around. She had a tendency to rant. Sometimes she jumped forward without knowing _everything, _but he knew she never did it with the intent to hurt. To humiliate. If she did, why would she have fled the room. Why would she be crying? As he leaned against the headboard, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, he only held her, content to let her mull through her thoughts, until long after the sun finally set.


End file.
